


Long Days, Late Nights, and Bumbleberry Pie

by Portia77



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Darcy looking after Bucky, F/M, Fluff, I'm going to suffocate you in fluff, Sheriff Bucky, chubby bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portia77/pseuds/Portia77
Summary: Sheriff James Barnes comes home after working an impossibly long day, seeking the comfort of his wife.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96





	Long Days, Late Nights, and Bumbleberry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> This Bucky was inspired by the looks of Sheriff Bodecker in The Devil All The Time (I repeat, inspired by *the look*, NOT the personality!! This is still Bucky, just with a cute lil' pudge).

By the time Sheriff James “Bucky” Barnes rolled in to his house in the suburbs Friday night, it was nearly eleven at night and he’d been at the office for nearly seventeen consecutive hours. He’d known when he got the call that it was going to be a long day -- known it from the weary tone of Officer Wilson’s voice when he called him in early -- but he couldn’t ever have prepared for the sight that greeted him, nor the colossal mess that followed in trying to clean it up. 

It was a terrible accident that had taken the lives of a family of four -- a young family, visiting from out of town -- and he’d been overwhelmed trying to not only do his job, but also to make sure the rest of the officers did theirs. Between helping move the bodies and taking photos after their hired photographer got ill on the job, he was exhausted. Physically, yes, but also emotionally. 

His young assistant, Peter, had all but kicked him out of the office under the orders of the missus, who’d called here _ in a right state. _

The Sheriff eyed him curtly, a swell of hot indignation carrying him. “I take orders from you now?” 

“No sir,” Peter said calmly, only a subtle shift of his feet giving away his nerves. “But I’d hate to upset Mrs Barnes. She threatened to never bring her georgian bay apple pie ever again if I didn’t get you home tonight.” 

The wind blew out of his sails just like that. “Alright, Pete. You tell Wilson and Barton I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes sir. Good night, Sheriff.” 

He’d tipped his fingers at the kid in a worn out salute before crawling into the driver’s seat of his beat up police car and shuffling home. He’d slept here and there where he could, but not nearly enough as he would’ve liked, nor as much as he was used to. But there was nothing for it; there was simply far too much to be done. He’d let his wife know early in the day that she’d have to put the kids to bed without him, and like the peach she was, she’d reassured him not to worry about them in his absence. 

The house he owned wasn’t big, but it was kept well and loved fiercely by its occupants, young and old. When he was a young man, shopping for a house for him and his sweetheart, she’d had precisely one request. The rest, she’d said, could be fixed. 

_ “I want a big wrap-around porch,”  _ he could hear her whisper in his ear.  _ “The kind where you can set up a nice swing with plush cushions, and we can sip our coffee out there in the mornings. Doesn’t that sound nice, Bucky?” _

It did, and it was. The big, blue porch was where he spent most of his freetime in the summer, sitting on the swing with his sweetheart under his arm, yelling at the kids not to pick on each other, not to stray too far, not to leave their toys laying about the yards like a bunch of heathens. 

The car slid into the driveway quietly, only the barest crunch of gravel under the tires to be heard. Bucky killed the engine, plucked the keys from the ignition, and crept inside. Unsurprisingly, the lights were all out, and he damn near broke his neck stepping on a racecar left by the front door. 

“Son of a--!” He grappled for the wall, cursing as the little toy shot out from under him and into the opposite wall. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” 

He was careful to keep his voice real quiet as he toed off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen. When he was driving home, he could only imagine sliding into bed with his wife, the thought of their big warm duvet pushing him on. But now he was home, the fridge was calling him, and he prayed there was leftover  _ something  _ in that ice box, otherwise his stomach was going to be mighty disappointed. 

Oh, but he shouldn’t have worried. 

There, waiting in the fridge, was a dish that might as well have been washed in angel light, for how beautiful it was. Golden crust, glazed from where the sugar had been sprinkled on top, was a half-eaten pie, its purple insides thick and gooey. Licking his lips, Bucky swiped his pointer finger along the edge of the fruit filling and stuck the gob in his mouth, eagerly anticipating what it was. 

Bumbleberry. 

_ Excellent.  _

More than a little pleased, Bucky took the whole pie plate out of the fridge and set it on the counter as quiet as a mouse. He then fished out a fork from the cutlery drawer, stabbed it into the dessert, and--

The light in the kitchen flicked on.

“We have  _ plates,  _ you know.”

With his fork half-raised to his mouth, Bucky froze, glancing sheepishly over his shoulder at the person who’d caught him. 

“Hiya doll,” he smiled for her. “Just...got so excited. You know how I am. I lose all my manners for your cooking.” 

Darcy Barnes,  _ nee _ Lewis, scoffed. “I’ll bear it in mind next time I make liver, see if I don’t.” 

Bucky grinned. “Yes, ma’am. You gonna let me eat now or…” 

She glared at him for a moment, hands on her curvy hips, bee-stung lips pursed in disapproval. Her dark hair was down, a sight that never failed to make him stare. The woman barely came up to his chin, and still there was no other person on this green Earth that could bring James Barnes to his knees like Darcy could. 

With a sigh, Darcy wrapped her housecoat around her tighter, folded her arms and said, “Get a fork for me, then.”

Bucky did get a fork, and they both took a seat at the kitchen table, quiet as they could. 

“How were the kids?” 

Darcy shrugged, scooping off a bite onto her fork, far more dainty than his. “They were good. Jimmy spent most of his evening at the Rogers’.” 

“No surprise there.” 

“Mhmm. Vick’s worried about a math test he’s got next week. Told him you could help him with it on Sunday.” She paused, eyeing him subtly. “Can you?” 

“Course.” Bucky ignored the unspoken question. He didn’t much fancy the idea of rehashing all that he’d seen with anyone right now, but especially not here at the dinner table, eating pie with his beautiful wife. “And the little miss?” 

“Wants to be a pilot.” 

Bucky paused, mouth full of pie. He chewed slowly, face twisting in confusion. “I thought she wanted to be a truck driver?” 

Darcy tutted him mildly. “That was last week, darling. Do keep up.” 

“Lord. She’s something, ain’t she?” But there was nothing on Bucky’s face to suggest he’d rather she be any other way. It was no surprise to anyone who knew the man. Most were aware of the way young Winnie Barnes had her daddy wrapped around her itty, bitty gender-role-defying finger. 

If Winnie said she wanted to be a pilot, then Bucky would be behind her, moving mountains to try and make it happen. 

He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I miss the days when she just wanted to be a princess.” 

“Uh huh.” Darcy had only taken a few bites, then sat back and watched him polish off a quarter of the pie with utter fondness in her eyes. “Look at you. Haven’t even taken off your hat yet.” She reached up and gently lifted the Sheriff’s hat from his head, revealing what was doubtlessly a head full of flattened curls, misshapen from wearing his hat all day. 

Darcy ran her fingers through the dark curls a few times, pushing it into place just so. He didn’t know if it did much good, but it sure felt nice. Bucky sat there in silence, letting her fuss over him for a while. 

“Still hungry?” she whispered close to his ear. He shook his head. “Okay. Why don’t you go on upstairs and I’ll put this back in the fridge?” 

“You’re a peach.” Bucky stood up and kissed her cheek. “As always.” 

“Go on,” Darcy murmured, swatting at him. “Get.” 

Getting his feet up the stairs was like dragging lead weights atop a mountain. Full of sweet pie and Darcy’s loving affection, Bucky’s body was loose and relaxed. The stress of the day was seeping out of him, and the exhaustion left behind was dragging his eyelids near to the point of closed shut. 

He poked his head in the first bedroom door, a room that was painted pink and splattered in all sorts of girly finishings that he didn’t have the first clue about. But there was also a bucket of race cars in the back corner of the room and Evel Knievel’s stunt cycle was lying on the floor. In the wispy light of the moon, he could pick out the wild curls of his only daughter, who laid flat on her back, arms spread eagle like a little starfish. Her mouth hung open as she slept, a touch of drool on her chin. 

Satisfied, Bucky closed the door and proceeded to the next room, bigger than the last and a dark shade of green. There were no girly touches to be seen here. A football, a few Micronauts, and propped in one corner was Jimmy’s skateboard. And there, against the right wall, was a set of bunk beds. The elder, Jimmy, slept on top, Victor on the bottom. Nothing could be seen of either boy except for a large lump underneath the sheets on each level. 

It pleased him all the way down to his toes to see his kids safe in bed, the same way it pleased him to see the fridge full of food or the car full of gas. His family was safe. They were happy. They were cared for. 

And that was three things his own father had never done for his family. 

By the time he made it to his own room, Darcy had finished putting the pie away and washing the two forks. “Let me,” she said, walking over to him and coaxing him onto the edge of the mattress. 

With nimble fingers -- fingers that had done this countless times before -- Darcy undid his tie and laid it on the bed beside him, then started unbuttoning his shirt. Tired to the bone, Bucky let her tug him to his feet to unbuckle his belt, and then lifted each foot on command to step out of his pants. There was something so soft and tender about the way she instructed him, something that made him stop thinking or feeling or hurting. He could just  _ exist _ when she cared for him like this, neither a Sheriff nor a father nor even a husband, just a man who only needed to worry about his own two feet. 

Darcy peeled the undershirt off his body for him, and moved to carrying his clothes to the laundry hamper, leaving his belt and tie on the dresser. Alone and naked, Bucky stared at his reflection in the mirror. 

He wasn’t a young man anymore, he knew that. Other men his age were far worse off, with pot bellies and a balding head. At least  _ Bucky _ had kept his hair. And yet, the prideful part of him couldn’t help grimacing at the soft pudge around his middle, in his cheeks and under his chin. It had appeared with the birth of Jimmy, and it hadn’t gone away since. As a young man, Bucky was trim and lithe, built for running. 

As a grown, married man, he felt bloated and old. __

Darcy appeared without warning in the reflection, standing behind him. She came up and wrapped her arms about his waist, stroking his sides gently. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

He sucked in a deep breath. “Not thinking anything worth even a penny.” 

“Good.” Darcy’s lips were warm against his bare shoulder. “You’ve done enough thinkin’ today.” 

He tried to smile at her, but the expression wouldn’t come out right. Even to his own eyes, the man in the mirror looked sad and downtrodden. 

“Honey,” she cooed, kissing his back some more. “What is it? Tell me.” 

“Nah, just…” Bucky shook his head. “I used to always resent gettin’ old. Gettin’ fat.” 

“You’re not fat.” She traced her hands stubbornly over his belly, and his skin rippled with gooseflesh. “You’re perfect every size, every way.” 

His hands found hers, holding them steady. “I used to be so mad about it. Used to...look at the old photos of me and you when we were in high school.”

“And you were the top athlete of the school? Mmm, I remember.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. He turned around in her embrace. “I missed that.” 

Her chin tilted upwards, resting on his chest. “Not anymore?” 

“No.” He carefully brushed away a stray curl off her face, sliding it back behind her ear. With his other arm, he held her close, enjoying the feel of the curve in her spine, the meaty swell of her hips. “A family of four died going over Sixen Bridge yesterday evening.” 

Darcy gasped softly, eyes washed with grief.

“They musta been passing through. Sam’s working with the hospital to get in touch with their relatives.” Bucky grimaced at the memory. “Looks like they were going too fast, wasn’t ready for the turn after the bridge. I don’t know. It was on its side in a ditch, likely rolled a couple times. Doc thinks they all died on impact, or close to it.”

“Oh dear god,” Darcy choked, pressing her face into his chest. “Those poor people…”

He kissed the top of her head and held her tighter. “Two kids in the backseat, you could tell they were pretty ones. Young. Younger than Winnie even. I…” He broke off, breathing unevenly. 

“It’s okay,” his wife was saying over and over, nuzzling her face against him. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I just realized, standing here, looking in the mirror,” Bucky continued on after a moment. “What in the hell do I have to be angry for? Getting old, getting fat on your cooking, that’s not a curse. That’s a blessing. I’m… I’m so goddamned lucky, Darcy. I'm s-so...” He broke off, voice trembling.

“I know, Buck. I know, shh. We both are.” She took him by the hand. “Come on, baby. Get into bed. C’mon, now. Up you get.” 

He did as he was told, moving mindlessly at her command. He slid under the covers, nude, and laid on his back, arms loose at his sides. Most nights, Bucky wrapped his honey-sweet wife up in his arms and held her through the night, but tonight… Tonight he wanted something different, something they’d done before a few times when she offered, but he didn’t know how to  _ ask _ . Didn’t know how to say the words.

He didn’t have to.

Darcy was downright soft as she crept into bed beside him, turned to face him and opened her arms invitingly. Bucky moved like a magnet drawn to her, letting her buxom breasts cushion his head as he snuggled into her embrace. Like she always did in this position, Darcy began to run her hand up and down his back, the other cradling his head to her heart. 

“Sleep, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I’m here. You just rest your eyes now and sleep.”

He could feel the pulse of her heart below his cheek, smell the perfume she wore on the wrists caressing him. Her breath was slow and steady under him. 

Steady. 

Darcy was steady. She'd _always_ been steady for him, a safe place to lay his head, even when he was a hotheaded kid with barely a nickel to his name. And God, he loved her so.

“Sleep,” she said.

And he did.


End file.
